Revelation...
i am...
something more
than my regrets,
something less,
than my dreams.
more of a carpenter
than a sculptor,
more of a farmer
than a savior.
dented, bruised, dusty,
and often busted.
i know the darkness
as well as the light,
sometimes better!
peaceful, but not a pushover,
will fight when cornered.
know about your jails,
and the prison of self.
been a drunkard, been a healer,
a mad lover, an unholy priest.
i've plowed the earth,
plowed the body,
built fires in the rain.
i am...
forgiveness, redemption,
passion, and spirit.
i am what i am,
and that is enough!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
It Is The Act!
it is not...
the house, the temple,
the city, or the country
that you built.
it is the act of building!
it is not...
the hours, the shifts,
the fields plowed,
or the steel forged.
it is the act of working.
it is not...
the sacrifices, the passion,
the forgiveness, or even
the life you shared.
it is the act of loving!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Tastes (Dreaming)
i went for years without dreaming,
or at least so i thought.
i wake up with tastes,
so simple that i'd forgotten.
the whisper of the rain,
weaves a web around my soul.
and there are voices in the shadows,
shadows that build small fires.
perhaps prayer is a form of memory,
a language we no longer understand.
and the body, a cage, or just a shell,
for a bird with broken wings!
then love, the body plowed,
the spirit bursts in bloom.
i taste like grapes,
too long fermented...
you taste like ashes,
and me!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Iternal Bleeding
Rot alone, destiny.
Killing the souls of lives at your feet.
Dead to its fight.
Hell as they said.
Killing the darkened rotting fate, fate.
Rot alone bludgeoning hell.
Finding their souls
And returning to dwell.
Killing and bleeding tightened as one.
Killing the darkened rotting fate.
Rot all lesions.
Glory, rotting plowed.
Dead hes, killed your soul.
Glory, rotting plowed(plowed echoed) kill.
song performed by by Obituary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Baby!
fresh plowed earth...
i cry out for rain!
baby, cant you hear
the sound of distant thunder?
the candle cold,
naked, and left alone,
baby, light the match!
turn the page, break down
the walls of this prison cell...
hungry, panting,
four feet running....
baby, cant you feel
the need for flesh?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Plowed, Planted, And Weeded
the human mind
is but a field...
it has to be plowed,
planted and weeded..
it needs sunlight and rain.
if the gardener is attentive,
the crop will be good.
if we let it lay untended,
it becomes a field of death!
the crop that we raise
is the food of the future...
plowed, planted, and weeded!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Lover Lover Lover
I asked my father,
I said, father change my name.
The one Im using now its covered up
With fear and filth and cowardice and shame.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
He said, I locked you in this body,
I meant it as a kind of trial.
You can use it for a weapon,
Or to make some woman smile.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
Then let me start again, I cried,
Please let me start again,
I want a face thats fair this time,
I want a spirit that is calm.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
I never never turned aside, he said,
I never walked away.
It was you who built the temple,
It was you who covered up my face.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
And may the spirit of this song,
May it rise up pure and free.
May it be a shield for you,
A shield against the enemy.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rings Of The Tree
the wrinkled skin of the old woman,
carries 70 years of loving and passion,
giving, touching, listening, and caring,
flowers planted and children birthed,
all night love making and all day working,
thankless simple acts of living...
bow down, and worship!
the blind old man's bruised hands,
built houses, furniture, fires...
fought for the right, prayed for forgiveness,
stroked the body of passion....
grew food, poured drinks,
taught the boy to whittle,
turned the pages of countless books...
kneel in respect!
and dammit... take care of them!
love them!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Faith Healer
[Alex Harvey]
If your body's feeling bad
And it's the only one you have
You want to take away the pain
Go out walking in the rain
You watch the flowers go to bed
Ask the man inside your head
Your spirit never has to grieve
All you've got to do's believe
The faith healer, the faith healer
All you've got to do is feel
Your body's going to start to heal
The fingertips of holy fire,
Everlasting sweet desire
It never mattered
What the doctor said
The healer man will sail away
It's immortality for two,
Oh the miracles
They will come to you
From faith healer,the faith healer
Can I put my hands on you?
Can I put my hands on you?
Faith, and hope, and charity,
The simple relativity
He can make you understand
All you've got to take his hand
Remember somebody said
Ask the man inside your head
The fingertips of holy fire,
Everlasting sweet desire
The faith healer, the faith healer!
Can I put my hands on you?
Can I put my hands on you?
Let me put my hands on you?
Let me put my hands on you?
Can I put my hands on you?
Can I put my hands on you?
The faith healer, the faith healer...
song performed by by Helloween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hands.... (That Dared To Speak!)
the hands....
that cleaned the old man
lying on urine stained sheets,
that planted the bulbs
in the old woman's flower bed.
that washed the dishes
for forty years....
the hands...
that built the old barn,
that plowed the fields,
that harvested the crops....
the hands...
that stroked desire's body,
that found each secret treasure,
that closed the window.
that held the baby,
that taught the child to write,
that buttoned his suit
on the day he was married.
the hands....
that buried the body,
that brushed leaves from the grave,
that packed away pictures.
the hands....
that picked up the pen,
that turned bloodstained pages,
that dared to speak!
the hands...
now old and withered,
painfully bruised,
often clasped in prayer,
that open to take the small child's hand;
that unlock the door,
and beckon to those in need...
the hands...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Unconditionally Open
these hands,
that took yours
and walked away from all
we knew.
these hands,
that laid brick,
cut wood,
plowed gardens,
picked up trash
built fences for the dogs,
held the children
when they were small,
held your hands
at the hospital
stroked your body,
touching forbidden places
with gentleness and
passion
wrote the poetry
hidden in your eyes
these hands,
now old and calloused,
sometimes tremble,
sometimes hard as stone
these hands are open,
without fear or trepidation,
unconditionally open
waiting for yours.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Celebrate Woman
i celebrate woman...
cosmos, storm, flower
opening and closing...
giver of life, bringer of death!
falling star, rhythm of seasons,
the flesh bound words of the poem...
daughters of the Goddess,
mother of earth, earth and all within.
i celebrate woman...
strong, tender, lightning,
embers smoking in the soul.
beauty, spirituality, sensuality,
wisdom of the ages.
fresh plowed dirt waiting
on seed, rain, and sun.
hope in the night,
a beacon to the lover's soul.
i celebrate woman,
mystery and substance,
hard working, strong believing,
touch, gift, and prayer...
i celebrate woman,
forever standing in her shadow,
with awe and admiration,
with passion, and gratitude...
i celebrate woman!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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For More!
the longest scar
on the face of a rose,
speaks with silent venom,
thunders when it opens!
a thousand deaths,
that love might live,
footprints that lead nowhere.
the bitter taste
of self, and empty...
the body plowed,
cries out for rain.
hungry, for more!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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What Then Is Love?
what then is love?
if it be not this...
the sound of your voice,
the stillness i breathe.
your scent, rainswept pines,
and wet plowed earth.
your skin the feathers
of dead crows seeking flight.
your hunger the thunder,
splitting clouds swollen with passion.
your eyes a bucket of rainwater,
shimmering in the moonlight.
your breasts the river,
your heart moss covered stone.
your soul the wind,
coming and gone without restraint.
your kiss the crackle
of branches in the fire...
your taste the shadow
that just stole the light.
your body the harbor,
this ship lost at sea.
your memory the anchor,
salt spray on my lips!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Who Will Teach?
have you ever
built a house,
plowed a field,
cut firewood,
caught a fish,
and cooked it over
your own fire?
have your children?
what happens when
it all falls down,
and we have to start over?
who knows how to survive?
and who will teach others?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Man Standing...
the man standing
in the shadows,
held the earth
in his hands...
until time and storm
finally had their way.
the man standing
in the shadows,
plowed and planted,
season after season,
till winter grey
closed the last door.
the man standing
in the shadows,
built a house
and a bridge...
and swept room and porch
till it was finished.
the man standing
in the shadows,
picked up nests of straw,
and opened tiny cages,
blowing light from cupped hands
till the darkness swallowed.
the man standing
in he shadows,
played a wooden flute,
caught stardust in each note...
till the great stillness came,
and the wind stopped blowing...
the man standing
in the shadows,
still smells like you!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Soldier
He is that fallen lance that lies as hurled,
That lies unlifted now, come dew, come rust,
But still lies pointed as it plowed the dust.
If we who sight along it round the world,
See nothing worthy to have been its mark,
It is because like men we look too near,
Forgetting that as fitted to the sphere,
Our missiles always make too short an arc.
They fall, they rip the grass, they intersect
The curve of earth, and striking, break their own;
They make us cringe for metal-point on stone.
But this we know, the obstacle that checked
And tripped the body, shot the spirit on
Further than target ever showed or shone.
poem by Robert Frost
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Time To Refocus
Many souls Satan will deceive, through a religion they believe,
Void of many Truths of God, taught through a deceptive nod,
And many who know and understand, for God, take no stand,
Enticed by men politically correct, even if they’re God’s Elect.
Since we’ll be with Christ forever, why can’t we stand together,
Opposing darkness, men portray, as being normal in our day?
For we, in Christ, know what’s right, guided by Truth and Light,
But, dark dulls the thinking of, many who are born from above.
Do some no longer fix their eyes, on the One above the skies?
The Lord’s only Eternal Son, Who made The Church Body one,
One unified Body on this earth, born in one Spirit, by new birth,
To serve Christ, in one accord, not following men but The Lord.
Men outside the Body of Christ, fill the Church with undue strife,
Not even mindful of our Savior, mock the ways of their Creator,
God’s Truth they may not believe, yet, their ways some receive,
Simply adding divisiveness, in a Body asserting righteousness.
We need to take a spiritual pause, to focus again on our cause,
Being for God the salt and light, in a world where wrong is right,
Guiding men to the Perfect Lamb; the only Savior of every man,
Opposing men’s dark behavior, as we point souls to our Savior.
(Copyright ©08/2010)
Who am I?
who am i?
the man who plowed your garden,
and tended your crops;
who hoed the weeds
in the hot summer sun.
i am the man who cut your wood,
sawed it into stacks,
preparing for the coming winter.
i am the carpenter
who built your home;
with boards of flesh,
and nails made of blood and tears.
i am the infidel
who brought you a holy candle,
and made love to you
while it burned down.
who am I
i am the minstrel in your courtyard
dodging bullets and angry lynch mobs.
i am the soldier you sent to battle,
not expecting him to come home.
i am the doctor of your heart
mixing balms of listening and caring.
i am the wolf that mounts you,
teeth gleeming in the moonlight.
i am the prayer you cant put to words,
and its answer!
who am I?
i am the reflection of your face
in the darkened window.
i am the bridge you walk across
to reach tomorrow...
i am the price of a lifetime,
the cost of passion.
i am the fire that burns,
the pot that boils,
the cup that's filled...
i am the colors,
the stink, the raw taste
of living.
i am the hawk that circles
o'er your freedom...
the hand that opens the door!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Midnight Falls
At the day's end,
I reckon, and find,
That my credit is blind
A colossal zero is thru to engulf me,
And my emptiness gets intense,
As if a mythical bird has gobbled last ray
Of the sun from the sky and thus,
Drops evening in my yard.
The impending night licks,
The left over of the fading light;
From gloomy leaves of the tall trees;
Then I take recluse as one
Who adores to live in an island to be plowed,
In quest of night....
To sail the boat to accompany me,
In the unexplored sea.........
On all a sudden, the night jumps on the earth;
The trees, the bushes & the shrubs tremble
With unscrupulous fear;
A blow of strong wind reigns,
The island kneels before the cyclone.
And thus, the music of creation fills the air,
The melody rings....
Raag Malhar invites the rain to shower;
Rain comes down, with the Lightning,
The night laughs and laughs as the land is saved
From being barren; the earth dreams of a harvested land...
Midnight falls towards the morning..
The Church bell rings..
The Nun is asleep.....
Me too!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Healer
My child, I had a visitation in my sleep last night
Something was calling to me from a blinding light
And told me not to fear it, hear it
It said, its time to make the world a little wiser.
There are enough destroyers and criticizers.
The world needs a healer, healer.
And I awoke, my heart was pounding
cause it was not like me to have such dreams
But I could not fall asleep for wondering
Why the messenger had come to me
My child, I am too old and I am set in my ways
But now I realize just what the voice conveyed
You will be a healer, healer
Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice
Because the healer comes
The healer comes
Your destiny I lay before you
But then the choice was never yours nor mine
When its time to take this burden on you
Then I will take the one you leave behind
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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